So yesterday I ran 13.1 miles in 1 hour, 56 minutes, and 16 seconds, putting my overall pace at 8:52. I placed 7th of 30 women in my age group (30-34) and out of 154 ladies to cross the finish, I was the 28th. Five months ago, my only running goal was to run one mile at a 9:20 pace.

The night before was rough; we spent the night at my mother-in-law’s vacated condo, and we didn’t get into town until 8:30 the night before. I had a late dinner of whole wheat pasta with sundried tomatoes and a garlic rosemary sauce. We got to bed late and the night was restless for us and the kids. I was anxious about this race, needless to say. In any case, we woke up at the crack of dawn, picked up our cousin — a college student who was willing to sacrifice sleep in order to hang with the kids at the park while we ran — and headed for race registration.

This was our first time running the course, and I was surprised to see that, save a 2-mile section that acted as both the first 2 and the last 2 miles of the out-and-back fast course, it was all trails. The route took us from the Flint Hills refinery in North Pole, through a few back roads, over a dyke and down into the Chena flood control area. We looped around a pond, ran behind Moose Creek bluff. After that we were on the back-side of the out-and-back. My favorite part of the run had to be running across the dyke; the views and the breeze were lovely.

The race was very well organized. As it is included in the famous Flint Hills Cup race series, I expected no less. There were a total of 5 refueling stations; one every approximated 2.5 miles. There was no solid fuel, but water and Powerade and encouragement in abundance. All race entry fees benefit the North Pole High School cross-country track team, and all refueling stations were manned by eager members of the team. Solid fuel: I took a GU Roctane 15 minutes before the race start, after my 1-mile warm-up run, and ingested one every 45 minutes throughout the race.

As for my splits, here is a link to my race stats as recorded by my Garmin Forerunner:

Untitled by taryn.salinas at Garmin Connect – Details.

My goal was to keep the first three miles between 9-9:30 minutes. My overall race goal was to cross the finish line with an overall pace of sub-9 minute miles; I fantasized about a solid 8:40 overall pace but I am definitely happy with 8:52.

Now for the fat.

My experience with this race was a learning one. I went into it telling myself that this was not my big race for the year. However, I believe that when you race, a part of you must be devoted to the competition in order to register in the first place. I altered my training for last week to account for my desire to push myself hard enough to achieve a sub-2 hour half marathon time. (Normally a long run pace for me is between 9-10 minute miles.)

I’d never run a half, but I knew from experience with long runs and 10k’s that it would not be wise to push myself from the starting line. The first Roctane kicked in, though, and it took everything I had to hold back at mile 3. I purposely started toward the back of the racing group so that I wouldn’t be tempted to race against the middle of the flock. I was still being passed by people coming from further toward the back, and I the pit in my stomach that was screaming at me to run faster was squelched by the knowledge that I had 10 more miles to run.

In the fourth mile, my reason began to pay off. I passed several people who’d begun to slow down from their early sprints. I began catching up to other racers simply by holding my steady high 8 minute-pace. There was no intent on racing these people; they were simply slowing down and I was maintaining my steady pace. My first race happened in the second half of the 4th mile; I encountered a woman who sped up as I passed her, and we played cat-and-mouse for about a quarter mile until I asked her if she wanted to catch up to the two gentlemen in front of us. She responded that she was nursing a bad IT band, and we talked for a few minutes about the Really Stinky Guy who we’ve both encountered in previous races. (This was one of the two men in front of us.) After that, my watch indicted that we’d lapped into the 5th mile and I said my goodbyes. I took off for my goal of 3 miles at an 8:30 and passed the two gentlemen in front of us (Stinky Guy was definitely offensive and I passed him in a hurry.)

My three-mile-8:30-goal was not met, and I’m really not sure why. I felt strong but I had aches in my left knee from the get-go, and my left hip flexor began to swell up and ache in the sixth mile. Reminding myself that this was not my big race and that I still have 2 long runs of 20 miles and over before I begin tapering for my September marathon, I kept my pace at a steady sub-9 or just-over-9 until the last two miles.

Between miles 4 and 13, I noticed that I began to pick people running at around a quarter mile in front of me, making it my goal to pace them and pass them. This proved to be an extremely effective race tactic, as I was successful in passing most of the people I chose as targets. In the meantime, I was passing people by the dozens; racers who for some reason were really beginning to taper from their early race paces. There was a man in front of me whose face I never saw, because although I passed him once, he passed me in mile 8 and I never was able to catch up to him. I did watch as he passed the Barbie and Ken couple that I remember from several previous races; I witnessed Ken make a bully move on the dark-haired gentleman that I refer to as “Alex” because he reminds me of my runner friend Alex — dark and handsome and fast. Anyway, Alex passed Ken and Barbie as they were obviously struggling with their paces because both Alex and I had been keeping steady high-8′s and these two were just tapering down. As Alex passed Ken, he made some comment to his flailing girlfriend and got right on Alex’s heels, tailing him very closely for about a half mile before Alex took off in a sprint to get the too-proud Ken off his heels. I became nervous about lapping these two because I was not in the mood to be bitchy, but I was ready if need-be. Turns out, there was no need. Apparently Ken only races dudes who pass him.

Soon after passing them, I came across Neon Green Jacket Lady. As we ascended the hill leading back up the dyke we’d come down in mile 4, I passed her. She trailed me for a mile until just after the 9.5 mile refueling station, then she flew past me in a sprint. I trailed behind her and Purple Tank Top Lady, pacing them as we passed several men in the final loop leading back to the paved road and final 2 miles. Purple Tank Lady was strong, and she turned on her afternburners right at mile 10; I didn’t see her again until after crossing the finish. In the 10th mile, Green Jacket Lady was one quarter mile in front of me, and I made it my goal to pass her. She was pretty steady but after my last Roctane took affect, I turned on my aftrerburners. I approached her at an 8:48 pace, and she proceeded to sprint. It was a full-on sprint race for the next half mile leading into the 12th mile, and I am proud to say that I smoked her ass, as well as the asses of several more men — one of which let out an exasperated sound as I sprinted past him — before I rounded the finish line at a full end-of-race stride. It was beautiful.

So what did I take away from this race? I learned that long races, while a test of endurance, are also a test of your race strategies. Your fueling method and your pacing method are equally integral to your racing success as your training runs. It is pertinent in longer races that you not burn out too soon, and in order to do that you MUST FUEL properly, and you MUST PACE properly. I know I did not place in the top 3 in my age group or the top 10 overall, but I did manage to finish in the top 10 of my age group, and the top 30 of overall women. For someone who drove to town the day before, went to bed on the hard floor of an empty apartment after caring for the needs of 5 displaced kids, woke up at 6:00 a.m. after approximately 4 hours of sleep and ran 13.1 miles on a Clif Bar and Roctane, that is definitely better than not-shabby, and it feels good to know that I passed my own test of endurance, fitness, and refueling knowledge. My left leg is all kindsa sore — sore calf, sore knee, sore hip flexor. Strangely, my right leg feels like it did the day before my race, with no aches or pains. I’m sure it’s a stride/cadence issue, and I plan to work on it this week before I run 20 miles on Friday. It’s all part of the journey.

I would like to momentarily plug my own high opinion of the need for self-validation. This is defined as the kind of validation that only comes through endeavors whose success depends solely on the individual in pursuit of it. I am an entirely different human being since I’ve begun to set running goals and achieve them. I am less distracted by my own demons, prone to making better choices in all other areas of life. I am a better wife, mother, and human being because I am filled up with confidence — the kind that only comes from the knowledge that I am getting back what I am putting forth.

In conclusion, I would like to add a few product reviews. GU Roctane is the sawce, literally. For a running gel, this is King. I had no dehydration cramps because I coupled it with water (did not skip any refueling stations), its taste is bearable, and its effects are felt almost instantly and they last. Also, Honey
Stingers. They are the perfect food, in addition to plain salted pretzels, for long runs. They are not too sweet and the texture is perfect — not chewy but not difficult to swallow. Also — and I know I make fun of women who show up to race-day in full face makeup — I did wear eyeliner and mascara yesterday. I have to declare that MAC’s fluidline eyeliners are amazing. I wore their fluidline in dipdown (brown) and when I looked at my face after 13 miles of sweat, wind, and wiping my eyes, the line was still there and as clean as when I applied it. That’s some hard core eyeliner.

I am so proud of Maurice. As a law enforcement officer on a staggered schedule, it is very difficult for him to fit training in next to his job and his role as a father of five, and he still managed to come in 3rd in his age group, earning a bronze medal. He is the epitomy of dedication to all things important to him: his family, his fitness. He certainly deserved to cross that finish line a winner.

Of course, now our daughers are walking around wearing our race t-shirts and carrying our mesh Flint Hills bag. I guess that’s how it goes. It’s not about the swag anyway.

So I have been trying to wrap my head around what I want to say about yesterday’s 5k race. My immediate recount was basically all-inclusive of elation: at my finish time, at my sustained pace, at my discovered ability to actually compete with my peers on this plane. I was on top of the world yesterday.

I have not always been a fiercely competitive person. I claim not to be, anyway. Yesterday, however, I felt a surge of emotion; a sudden onslaught of pride. Pride! In myself!

It occurred to me as I passed this person and that person, sped between shoulders and dodged around slower feet, that I was doing really good at this. That all my hard work was paying off. That I, and I alone, would be responsible for the outcome of this race.

A very simple concept, but consider the possibilities. If I apply that rhetoric to every aspect of my life, I can be so much more successful than I have ever allowed myself to be before. Of course, I have been practicing this method of living without ever realizing I was; but only for the last few months.

When I made the decision to take a leap of faith and throw myself into the reparation of my marriage, I was living like that. This is not about overcoming anything. This is about being committed to changing for the better, much like running.

I believe fully that I broke a huge plateau yesterday, both physically and spiritually. I also believe that the relationship between the shattered plateaus is symbiotic: my commitment to a successful marriage has acted as a catalyst for the liberation of my entire perspective. If it’s a good cause, the degree of effort will ALWAYS pay dividends. I have tried-and-proven that method with the gradual climb of my marriage from the depths of destruction. There is nothing on Earth that says I can’t apply that perspective to a 5k race. Since my life has achieved balance again, my running pace has improved exponentially. Since I dove into the reconciling of my relationship with Maurice, I have been liberated in a monumental way.

So as I sit here in my hot pink compression socks, I think about my sweaty, gasping-for-breath walk down the chute after crossing yesterday’s finish line. I was greeted by my husband, who waited expectantly for me until I showed. I think about the fact that I knew he would be there, waiting for me, and he knew I would be there, looking for him. I think about the fact that yesterday, we both ran hard races and we both succeeded because we had each other to count on for support and encouragement. I think about the fact that nothing we did yesterday was in spite of something, but in support of everything. I think about the fact that I *think* I know now what it means to be married. And I think about the fact that I am a wife to a great man, who finds validation in the affirmation of my love, and vice versa.

So, did running save my marriage? Or did applying the same energy to running as I applied to the salvation of my marriage act as a catalyst for pushing myself above and beyond my own physical limits yesterday. That’s like asking, “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” A rhetorical question whose answer really has no bearing on the truth, and the truth is it’s all a great mystery, but I know one thing: I could not function as successfully without my relationship with Maurice, or without my relationship with running. Both things are centrifugal to knowing myself. Both are symbiotic relationships whose success or failure has an outcome on my perspective on life as a whole.

I am thankful for my own two feet, and I am thankful for my husband. But not necessarily in that order.

If somebody told me to describe my experience with the Equinox Marathon yesterday, this blog title would be a good summation. The cannon signaling the start of this race brought runners up a sled hill, and then up a mountain and allllll the way back down.

It becomes very apparent to the first-time marathoner, and probably the first time Equinox runner, that this is no ordinary marathon. The beauty of this course is astounding. Raw, natural, full of life and color. For a first-timer, however, that beauty is greeted with the simultaneous feeling of insurmountable goals. The cruelty of this course is masked by unmatched beauty.

At about mile 7, I realized my previous shoe-initiated knee pain was coming back to haunt me. My knees were screaming at me, and I thought to myself, “There are no shuttle buses to take you back to the University soccer field now, so you better just keep going.” At mile 14.25 and just after climbing Ester Dome, I realized I had 12 miles of severe downhill grades plus more hills that would further exact terror on my already exhausted body. I was ready to call it quits right there, but I was brought back to reality when I looked around me and for 360 degrees, there was nothing but hill-top and other masochistic people who knew the same thing I did — no way out. Better finish up.

Mile 18 brought a nice lady with Motrin and a stellar second wind. The cottonwood forest portion of this run was my favorite; like running through the most beautiful dream, and I hit a stride that caught me up with a couple of guys who were cramping because they refused the refueling stations. Even tripping over a tree root and falling on my left side couldn’t slow me down at that point. (Thank God for Powerade and gummy bears, and Senator-hopeful Joe Miller, who brought us that refueling station!) At mile 20, I saw racers hopping into waiting cars, or talking on their cell phones — scratchers. I began to think that maybe dropping out wasn’t as chump a move, if all these other runners were doing it. Then my husband greeted me with the camera, and I thought to myself, “You can’t stop running now! He’s gonna get your wussing out on camera!” And I began to pick up my pace again.

At mile 22, I realized I was going to be climbing yet another power line trail, and my heart sank. I stopped half way up to tell myself to stop being a baby and keep climbing. At mile 24, I saw a dozen or so people in front of me, and even as I passed those people, I got smoked by a dude carrying a CANE. I told myself that as much as my body was aching, the recorders would stop scanning times at 7 hours, and I was going to finish this fucking race in time to place…even in the bottom of the group.

At mile 26 and after climbing a cross country ski hill, I saw that the officials for this race had decided to play head games with the racers by requiring us to climb half way up the hill we started on, just to get that extra .2 miles in.

At 26.2 and 6 hours, 50 minutes, 38 seconds, I crossed the finish line. I finished in the bottom 50 runners, and my time was muuuuch less than stellar. But I learned so much about marathon racing — about my own strengths (Seriously, running uphill. I must be half mule or something!) and weaknesses (burning out too quickly).

I got through this, my first marathon, on the notion that what goes up must come down, and what is started must be finished. So my personal goal for this marathon was simple: cross that damn line, and in doing that, I turned that goal into a personal record. Not too shabby for a lady who, two weeks shy of three years ago, was sitting in a cardiovascular intensive care unit with massive heart attacks and 8 days post-partum with twins. Trust me when I say, if I can do this, ANYONE can do this. And if that guy with the cane, plus about a hundred men and women in their 70′s can finish this race before me, then I can certainly improve on my own time. Even as my knees and hips are asking me what the fuck I tried to do to them yesterday, I can say with confidence that I’m coming back for more.

Finished!!

Fooooooood!!!!

Even though I’m not looking at the camera, this is one of my favorite photos from the day. These are my running partners, Carrie and Margie. They crossed the finish line together, and this is their third time doing the Equinox. Oh yeah, and Margie? She turned 60 this July.